


Fear of Falling (Further)

by Dapperscript



Series: (Drabbles) Your Eyes Say So Much To Me [5]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Hannibal, Established Relationship, M/M, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Top Will
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-11
Updated: 2017-08-11
Packaged: 2018-12-14 02:02:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11773179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dapperscript/pseuds/Dapperscript
Summary: Sex is simple. Intimacy is complicated.[Standalone fic for BottomHannibalDay2017, or set between Part 1 and 2 of the main story.]





	Fear of Falling (Further)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [merrythoughts](https://archiveofourown.org/users/merrythoughts/gifts).



> So this is entirely Merry's fault. She stressed that because I was kind of the one to drag her into the bottom!Hannibal pile I needed to write _something_ for such a great day/week event. So! Consider this my offering. 
> 
> This can be read as a standalone, but if you've read our other stuff, canonically this takes place a week or two after the end of Part 1!

The few times it happens are always in the early morning. Sometimes the sun has risen enough to cast the room in a soft pink light that eventually bleeds into a fiery glow, and sometimes the sun hasn't yet recognized its duty for the day and the room is still ever dark. 

 

When Hannibal registers the touch to his hip - tentative and warm, skittish in the way it slides higher, hesitates, and then returns to where it had been - the room is still mostly dark. Outside the world is cold, cast in a fine dusting of snow but the space between them is warm and intimate in a way that even now seems next to impossible. Behind him, Will rouses but Hannibal remains where he is, his eyes closed, following the tentative touch to his hip with a fascination yet unexplained. This is not the first time, nor even the second, but Hannibal basks in the attention just the same. Bit by bit, Will's touch grows bolder. His hand remains relatively centered but the hesitation behind it eases until his grip is firmer. Only then does Hannibal finally stir and open one eye, looking back over his shoulder.

"Knew you were awake," Will says, and his voice is rough with sleep, almost wry. "Do you ever sleep?"

"Very lightly. Good morning, Will."

"I-- yeah. Morning," Will mumbles back. 

It's always a fascinating dance, this tentative peace. They've come so far since the beginning, through acres of manipulation and bloodshed, then even further after the Fall. Yet despite all that has happened, despite the understandings they've come to, the intimacy they've finally found in more than merely the physical, it is endlessly fascinating that Will is so tentative even now. He'd been shaken, that first time, so awed that  _Hannibal_  had been the one to spread his legs for him, to invite him in, to cling to him and give him everything, but it had come as no surprise to Hannibal. Hasn't he already done that? He has already cast himself against the rocks - both figuratively and literally - for Will Graham. His affinity - his love - is a finely-honed diamond cutting through whatever has darted into their path. That Will is surprised at it even now is both charming and disappointing. 

Against his hip, Will's fingers curl and Hannibal feels the bite against existing bruises there. He allows himself a hitch to his breathing and delights in Will's laser-focus. He'll never be satisfied without Will's attention strictly on him. "If you want something, Will, you know you need only ask."

Silence. The hand on his hip stills, seems to reconsider, and then tightens again, tentatively. "I'm... trying to find the words."

Hannibal turns then, rolling onto his back. Beside him, Will is propped up on one elbow. His hand withdraws and Hannibal catches a flicker of nervousness in Will's eyes despite the dark before Will frowns down at him. Hannibal merely looks at him, at the vaguely sleep-mussed hair (to which his own is likely similar) and then he reaches for Will's hand, drawing it back over to set low on his stomach, over the puckered scar of the exit wound now thankfully healed. He hears Will's sharply-drawn breath and Hannibal's fingers tighten around Will's wrist. Between them, the scent of arousal grows; Hannibal had been able to smell it for minutes before Will had touched him. The scent sharpens now. He wets his lips. "Shall I ask, then?"

Will's quiet for a moment, then he nods, just once. Hannibal feels his pulse pick up under his fingertips.

"I would like you inside of me, if you're amenable."

Hannibal  _feels_  Will's shiver and he even lets Will's softly-breathed, "fuck," slip on by without a reprimand for the language used. 

"Yeah. Yeah, okay," Will says, and his voice is thick. He hesitates again for a moment; while they have been sexual,  _sex_  is still very new and ever since the first time had startled Will with its intimacy, he's been more skittish. Hannibal releases Will's wrist and it takes Will only a moment to roll back over and fumble with the drawer to the end-table. He pulls out lubrication and tears a condom off from the rest of the package. Hannibal catches the split-second pause where Will undoubtedly wonders what he's doing, but then Will rolls back over to face him, the line of his jaw a little more stubborn, like he's determined to beat his own nerves into submission. "Can I just... can I--"

"Whatever you wish," Hannibal allows, a thread of a smile in his voice that makes Will tense until he realizes it's not mocking. Even now, despite it all, there are hurdles to pass. They will, in time. For now, Hannibal reaches a hand up and settles it on Will's shoulder, then slides it slowly up to cup Will's jaw. He traces his thumb over the line of Will's scar and shifts slowly on the bed. Hannibal draws the blankets back and shifts a little, spreading his legs in invitation. He catches Will's glance, hears another soft curse under Will's breath, and then suddenly Will is between his legs, sitting up. 

He leans in, and their lips have almost touched when Hannibal presses his hand to Will's chest. "That might not be as pleasant as you expect," he warns.

It takes only a second for Will to realize what Hannibal means. Then he lets out a small snort. "I don't fucking care about morning breath. Christ, Hannibal, I was married."

The reminder is unpleasant and Hannibal must not be able to school his expression quite quickly enough, even in the dark. Will stills, then mutters a soft, "forget I said that," even though he knows Hannibal can't. The initial kiss is a little stiff but even the unpleasant reminder of Will's previous  _distraction_  cannot fully remove the thrill at being kissed by him. As he has since the moment he'd first seen Will Graham, he forgives him, and Hannibal's hand finds its way back to Will's jaw. It's tentative at first, and then Will pushes ahead as he always does. He takes the intimacy, holds it more at arm's length and kisses Hannibal like he'd drown without it otherwise. What starts out as tentative kisses and nibbles soon becomes teeth and tongues. A hand slides over Hannibal's chest and fingers immediately gravitate to his nipples. The first pinch has him shivering and the second - bolder - is enough to draw a hitched breath from his lips. 

When Will finally breaks the kiss, they're both breathless. Hannibal regards him quietly and as it always does, it seems to spur Will on into more. Will's mouth finds his throat, his lips hot, his stubble rough, and his fingers keep touching and pinching and - at one point - twisting enough to draw a grunt from Hannibal's lips. It feels good as it always does, but Hannibal can tell Will is still a little off-balance. His own fingers find Will's hair, winding through already-messy strands and his other hand settles low on Will's hip. Then it slides carefully between them and Will's breath catches almost immediately as Hannibal's hand wraps around his cock. Will shudders and Hannibal hums, curling his fingers in Will's hair as he strokes him, feeling the weight of him as he turns his head enough to kiss Will's jaw. 

"Fuck," Will breathes, and the fine tremor of arousal is enticing in its existence. "I really want to fuck you."

"You may."

Will draws back just enough to send him a look, brows drawn, expression stunning under the heaviness of his own arousal. "Now?"

"As I said," Hannibal soothes, and gives Will's cock another slow stroke that has him shuddering. 

"F-fuck, yeah, okay. Just let me..." Will trails off as he draws back. It's with clear reluctance that he eases Hannibal's hand away from his cock and then Will picks up the lube he'd set aside earlier. He hesitates just for a moment.

"If you're uncomfortable with preparation..."

"No," Will mutters back, stubborn. He misses the slightly pleased smirk on Hannibal's lips. "No, I can do it. Just - pillow, right?"

Will doesn't wait for a confirmation. Instead he reaches up for one of the pillows on the bed and - with Hannibal's help - he slides it under Hannibal's hips, urging him to plant his feet on the bed and get comfortable. Then the sound of the lube being uncapped fills the air and Will's stubbornness carries him through.

Hannibal can tell that Will always  _intends_  preparation to be quick. He starts in quickly enough, slicking one finger and pressing it in with a vague care. He always begins with the intention to slide inside of him as quickly as possible but then the tight clench of heat around his finger registers and every single time, Will stills with a soft gasp. This time is no different, and while he tips his own head back at the slick sensation, it's Will who looks shocked. Hannibal watches him secretly, the open awe, feeling the way Will's free hand shakes a little where it's braced itself on his knee. Will is the one who needs to adjust and when he presses in deeper and curls his finger tentatively, it doesn't take him long to find what he's looking for.

The initial pleasure is almost uncomfortable, as always, but in mere seconds, Hannibal's breathing hitches. He shifts, tensing a little bit, and Will's hand falls to his hip to grip and squeeze. No matter how often Will attempts to downplay it, there is intimacy in this. His finger presses in carefully, in slow, aching movements, and by the time Hannibal urges him for a second, Will has no protests, no quips. Instead he simply wets his lips in the dark, says, "yeah," and goes back for more lube. 

Each stretch is heady in its own way. Hannibal basks in the attention, taking pleasure from the way a simple hitch in his breathing catches Will's attention immediately. He breathes slowly, remains relaxed, and when Will's fingers curl and press, Hannibal only needs to remind him once to avoid pressing so sharply. Will is no longer the only one hard, and Hannibal drifts on the attention, on the intimacy he had so long been denied. He's quiet; he's hardly a vocal man in bed by nature, but Will Graham is capable of many things. While he's tentative in this newfound intimacy, he's still Will. And just as he presses in with three fingers a few minutes later, his other hand moves to Hannibal's cock, wrapping around it and easing the foreskin back the way he's discovered Hannibal enjoys.

The attention is unexpected and Hannibal's breath hitches noticeably. He remains still, allowing Will free reign over the speed of how quickly he wishes to sink his fingers inside of him, but the slow stroking is enough to send sensation racing through him. Hannibal shivers, his breaths a little rougher, and he finally lets out the softest of moans when Will crooks his fingers and rubs slowly.

"That's it," Will urges, his voice rougher, looking just shy of mesmerized. Their eyes have both adjusted to the dark and Will can clearly see everything he wishes to. "That's it, baby. You feel so good."

Hannibal shivers and arches. He wonders idly if Will has noticed the term of endearment yet. It isn't the first time it's shown up but it does mark Will's descent into intimacy quite well. His own breathing is rougher as Will's fingers spread him open, working slow and deep. His hands move to the bedsheets and worry them between his fingers, his own body moving to push back after a bit. Above him, Will strokes him quicker and begins to thrust with his fingers, and the sensation has Hannibal shuddering. No matter how above his own desires he is, Will Graham will always be his weakness. He breathes Will's name, breathless, and Will curses, his pace quickening.

It's only once Hannibal allows himself to clench around Will's fingers that Will apparently reaches his limit. He curses again and his strokes slow before he lets Hannibal's cock go, spreading his fingers inside of him instead until Hannibal arches under him again. "Fuck, Hannibal, I need-- are you okay? Can I..."

"Yes," Hannibal breathes back, and shifts, spreading his legs a little more as Will immediately eases his fingers free and fumbles for the condom. It's difficult with one of his hands slick, but as Hannibal watches him, breathing rougher, Will manages. He slides the condom onto his cock, hands shaking, and when he presses in close and urges Hannibal's hips up, the aching desire is clear in his eyes. Hannibal watches as Will bites his lip, as the flesh indents between his teeth, and then a hand finds his hip, squeezing both to reassure and keep him steady, and then Will leans in and Hannibal feels a much greater stretch.

As it always does, the sensation burns. His rougher sound is half-pain, but it's drowned out by the way Will's breathing hitches and the cursed groan that follows. This is something Hannibal craves. The pain offsets the pleasure, clearing his mind just enough so that he can watch Will unburdened. 

He's beautiful like this, trembling under the sensation, his cock throbbing, his lips parted. Hannibal aches to bite them, to lick into Will's mouth, but he holds the urge back as Will slowly presses in. It's a violent intensity, sparking a storm between them, and when Hannibal rocks his hips, Will's groan is cracked and brittle around its edges. He falls forward, bracing himself over Hannibal's body, no longer supporting his own cock as he presses deeper. It takes time, but when Will finally bottoms out, there is a fine sheen of sweat over Will's skin. It reflects his own. Hannibal reaches up, breathing hard, and he cups Will's face. It's almost too much; Hannibal can see the flare of something akin to panic in Will's eyes before it fades and then Will leans into it almost desperately. He sounds wrecked, soft curses and sounds escaping him, and Hannibal can feel the effort it takes for Will to keep composed.

"Hannibal," Will breathes, almost desperate, "Hannibal,  _fuck_ , I need to-- are you okay?"

"Please, Will," Hannibal slides his hand up, curling his fingers into Will's hair. He's careful as he pulls Will in closer and moves, lifting his legs to brace against Will's hips. One of Will's hands moves to help, the other bracing him, and Will shudders almost violently. "I'm fine. Take what you need."

With a deeper groan, Will does just that. To his credit, he's as gentle as he can be at first, easing back and inching his way back in, feeling the way Hannibal's body welcomes him and tries to keep him inside. Hannibal merely holds him, his arms tight, grip almost bruising, and for a time, they both breathe in tandem, Hannibal rolling his hips and Will rocking into him. It's close and intimate and the rough sounds Will lets out are music to Hannibal's ears. Each groan, every gasp, every soft curse that has Will pressing in deeper - all of it is mesmerizing to him. 

It doesn't take Will long to find a rhythm, but after a few rougher sounds, Will adjusts his effort. There's a building tension in him and his hand moves from Hannibal's leg up to his hip and pulls up. It's almost uncomfortable until Will adjusts his angle and rocks back into him. 

Hannibal jerks with a sudden, rough gasp that has him shuddering, and Will lets out a sound that's almost a laugh, satisfaction etched into his voice. "There we go. That it? Fuck, yeah, it is. Fuck, Hannibal," Will groans, and after a quick adjustment to keep Hannibal right where he is, his thrusts quicken.

It's a different game then, a new level of intimacy. Each rock of Will's hips sends sharper pleasure through Hannibal's body as his cock brushes and glances off of his prostate. Controlled movements fail and Hannibal reaches up, one arm winding around Will's shoulders to pull him in closer. Every thrust is intense and Hannibal rides the waves of sensation as Will rocks his hips. It isn't long until the pace picks up, until gentle, tentative movements become more selfish, and when Will snaps his hips forward the first time, Hannibal arches his back with a softer, punched-out sound that Will chases with his lips.

Compared to the first time, it's different. It's a little rougher, more desperate. It's Will's attempt to show that there are many ways this can be done, that he can take Hannibal without almost falling apart. Yet even as he snaps his hips, even as the both of them gasp, pulses racing, hands grasping, there is an intimacy impossible to deny. Hannibal clutches Will close, feeling every micro-movement of Will's body as Will moves against him, inside of him. Pleasure fires brightly but it's the little things Hannibal focuses on. It's the desperate way Will grips his hip too tight, the ragged breaths puffing out against his neck, the way Will's stubble scratches his skin and the way he scrapes his teeth over Hannibal's throat like he wants to bite but won't. But more than that, it's the desperation in the way Will surges ahead, his breath ragged, his voice rough. Soft murmurs fall from Will's lips, little gasps of, "you feel so good," and "fucking  _tight_ , baby," and " _Christ_ , Hannibal," that have Hannibal pressing back, groaning rougher. 

When Will's rhythm begins to falter, Hannibal knows he's close. Will trembles above him, grips his hip tighter, and sharp thrusts quickly become deeper, pointed grinds that have Hannibal's breath catching. "F-fuck," Will pants, "are you... fuck, I'm close, Hannibal." 

"Nearly," Hannibal manages, breathless, clutching Will tighter. "Just... closer."

Even Hannibal is surprised that Will correctly infers what he means. With a sound that is all desperation, Will nudges Hannibal's hips higher and then leans over him, pressing so close that every undulation of his hips results in added friction, Hannibal's cock trapped between them and the pleasure is suddenly that much sharper, that much closer. Hannibal gasps and Will grinds out a rougher, "fuck, that good?" Hannibal only clutches him tighter, making a sound of affirmation.

Will's rhythm falls less than a minute later. He clutches Hannibal close, breathing rough, and when Hannibal intentionally clenches down around him, Will cries out a rougher sound, something that's almost a half-curse, and then he just fucks into Hannibal quicker. His hips snap forward and it's all friction and quick and  _good_  and Will manages a soft, "f-fuck, you can... Hannibal, fuck, you can too. C'mon, baby, for me," and it's all that's needed.

Hannibal comes with a rougher groan of Will's name, something aching and sharp as pleasure slices through him with the same intensity as if Will had palmed a knife for the same purpose. Above him, he feels Will shudder, hears a soft curse of, "oh, fuck, you feel so..." before Will cuts himself off and just grinds in deep. Hannibal doesn't curse but it's a near thing, gripping Will's shoulder tight, his nails sliding down his skin as Will cries out above him. It's a mess of sensation, Hannibal coming sticky and hot between them as Will clutches him tight enough to bruise, and Hannibal is both expecting it and welcoming as teeth latch sharply onto the curve of his shoulder. He clutches Will close, tight enough that blood will bloom like rose petals under his nails, and he hears Will's near-sobbed gasps as he shudders and twitches, voice muffled by Hannibal's shoulder as he does as Hannibal had told him and takes what he needs.

The intensity is not something that magically bleeds away after, and Hannibal doubts it ever will be. For all that Will had asked of him, as they both come down from the high of pleasure, it is Will who collapses into Hannibal's arms. Breathing heavily, shuddering in aftershocks, Hannibal clutches Will close with bruising effort and the tight grip of Will's teeth eventually leaves. Instead Hannibal feels him press in close, burying his face against Hannibal's neck, perhaps for the intimacy or perhaps to hide. Hannibal merely keeps him there, and just as Will's thoughts had escaped on a stream of consciousness during sex, so too does Hannibal allow his own to take over now.

He doesn't say much in English, only allowing soft praise like, "you were perfect," and, "you felt wonderful, Will." But under his breath, in a bouquet of languages, Hannibal says far more. He holds Will through the aftershocks and basks in his own, and Will doesn't draw away even after he's softened and slipped out. Instead he stays where he is, arms locked tight, and Hannibal steadily feels Will relax against him, feels uncertainty bleed away under the force of sheer stubborn affection. 

In the end, the condom gets tied off and tossed into the wastebasket and Will has the choice to draw back. He doesn't. Hannibal doesn't mind. This is intimacy as much as it is manipulation on both of their parts. One day they will learn to find compromise, to fully appreciate the other, to not feel shame in the need for closeness. Today might be the beginning of that day, or that week, or that year. Hannibal only holds Will closer and whispers promises into the damp line of Will's hair and above him, Will presses closer and shivers.


End file.
